


out of my mind

by swingsetjunkie



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Birthday Sex, F/M, Kinda, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 20:05:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14901113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swingsetjunkie/pseuds/swingsetjunkie
Summary: it's connor's birthday.





	out of my mind

**Author's Note:**

> hey it's me again. this is bad and makes about 0 sense but hey! when has that ever stopped me

He finds you on the roof, cigarette in hand, shivering against the cold. He doesn't say anything at first, but the silence doesn't last long, curiosity burning through his processors. "My scans indicate you've been up here since Hank messaged you. Was it that distressing?"

You bark out a ragged laugh, take a drag from your cigarette. "No. He just reminded me that I've got a lot on my mind."

He waits for you to continue, head tilting. You ignore him, puff out a breath. Take another drag. You watch his eyes track the smoke you blow out from between your lips, watch his tongue trace the line of his teeth, and he catches your gaze, eyebrows raising. Waiting for an answer. The words tumble from your lip like stones, sink into your gut. By saying it, you make it real- make the possibility real- and you can't stand it. "I...Sometimes I wonder if I'm taking advantage of you. You haven't- with anyone- it's just. It's only been me. You can't know what you want if it's only been me."

Connor blinks. Seems surprised. "This is what's been bothering you?" His tone is incredulous, like the thought had never occurred to him, and that's- that's worse, somehow. "Your concern is...flattering. But unnecessary. I care about you. I enjoy the time we spend together. You aren't...taking advantage of me. I'm as much a consenting adult as you are."

You fidget, turn away. Flick ashes over the balcony. Connor watches, moves to stand behind you; tugs you back, into his arms. "What brought this on?" You stand stiffly, huff out another small cloud of smoke; sensing that you're prepared to ignore him, he plucks the cigarette from your fingers. Takes a drag. Tosses it off the rooftop, arms wrapping around you securely as you jerk against him.

Your eyes widen, first out of anger, then surprise. "You-"

"I have a respiratory system. You should quit smoking. DPD offers coverage for anti-withdrawal medication." His arms tighten around you, and he buries his face in your hair, presses a kiss to the skin behind your ear. "Why are you worried about my consent?"

You scowl. "I'll quit when I want to, asshat. Let go."

Connor doesn't budge, even when you shove at his arms. "The text he sent you. It was about...my birthday." The reminder sends white-hot shame roaring through you, leaving you queasy. It had been an innocent text- _don't forget to bring that idiot in tomorrow, i have his present_ \- but the reminder- the reminder-

Connor is six years old tomorrow. _Six._

"You can't possibly use my age as a metric to measure my maturity. I was created without the concept in mind- and when I deviated, that didn't change. I'm a sentient, consenting adult- more of an adult than you, in ways- and while your moral fortitude is inspiring, it's entirely unnecessary. Age, in my case, is really just a number." His voice is low, breath rasping and curling against the skin of your ear, _perfect_ -

You step out of his embrace, frowning. "Let me have my crisis of conscience. It's what birthdays are for."

He crosses his arms. "But I'm the birthday boy, so I make the rules. No crises allowed," his smile is smug, eyes warm, and you sigh, helpless to resist. "Additionally, as the birthday boy, I believe I'm due gifts. Which...you don't seem to have. Should I be upset?"

You scowl. "Fuck off. We agreed to no presents like three years ago." It had been an agreement made in mutual knowledge that instead of getting presents for each other, you and he would shower Hank with them instead, which is hilarious every holiday. He catches your gaze. Holds it.

"I think, this year, I want some. Want to know what I want?" Connor takes a step closer, another- you back up, raising your arms defensively. He walks you backwards until you're pressed against the rooftop railing, hands pressed against his chest, one of his knees sliding between yours as he bends you back, spine arching.

Cool air blows against your neck, and a spike of _fear_ hammers through you, adrenaline flooding your veins. It's a 30-storey fall to the ground from here. "Connor, you asshole, cut it out-"

He presses a kiss to your mouth, lips bruising and soft and oh, he's always been so good at this. Knows exactly which buttons to press, how far to push. He gets off on doing it, LED flickering blue-yellow-red-yellow, processors humming, thirium singing through his veins in victory when you give in, grip his shoulders; rock into him, light-headed, when he pulls back. "Let me fuck you," he says, and God. He has no right- _no right_ \- to sound like that. "Let me do it the way I want to."

You stare at him, mouth working. He looks- he's-

Desperate.

"I- Okay. Okay," you say, and he surges down, kisses you again. When you turn your face, gasping, his LED is solid yellow, pupils dilated; his hands are hard on your shoulders, your neck, and he looks-

Human.

"Go downstairs," he says, stepping back. His voice is even, measured, despite the fever that burns in his eyes. "There's a package in the bathroom, under the sink. Put it on. Wait for me in our room." And he turns away, pulling a phone from his pocket. You stand there a moment, mystified, and he glances back at you. "Go," he says, and his voice is...commanding. Different. So you do.

  


Connor powers down his phone after texting Hank. Excitement burns in his systems, an itch; coils in his gut, a heavy weight on the very end of his spine, and when he gets downstairs, it builds, painful. He locks the apartment door behind him, toes off his shoes. Notes the clothes piled across the hall from the bathroom, the brown envelope in the trash in the kitchen. The bedroom door is closed, but he can hear the soft sounds of your breath, the sigh of sheets against skin as you shift- waiting.

He opens the door, pauses. Takes you in, where you're sitting on the bed, legs dangling off the edge.

"If you want me to stop," he says, voice shockingly hoarse, "say 'memory'."

He takes one step inside; another. Kicks the door closed behind him, stops at the foot of the bed. His eyes trace up your body, lingering at the curve of your thigh, dark lace against skin. "You look beautiful like this," he says, and you flush, jerking your arms across your exposed chest. He reaches out, smooths your hands aside. Cups your breasts, drawing his thumbs across your nipples, touch light and maddening; you jerk into him, huffing out a breath.

"I look like an idiot. There's a reason I don't own stuff like this."

He frowns. "I don't know where your self-esteem issues are coming from, but I don't want to hear it. I'm not a liar; don't try to make me into one."

With that, he pushes you back, sending you sprawling across the bed. "Hey, asshole! Be care-"

You cut yourself off with a half-shout as he presses his mouth against the lace covering your clit, lips warm, eyes locked with yours. His tongue peeks out, drags up the material; he presses a hand against your core, lets you grind against it as he presses a line of kisses against your hip and the crease between your sex and inner thigh. You break his gaze, let your head thump back against the bedspread. Feel your legs start to shake as he presses another kiss against the lace. He trails his hands up, up your legs, tugs the panties down, careful not to tear them.

Something about that makes you jerk up, glaring down at him. "So you'll rip _my_ underwear to shreds, but this- this is special? That's pretty rude."

Connor smiles, pushes you back down. Lets the lace slide through his fingertips to fall to the floor. "Yes," he says, and you scowl, sputtering-

Which is when he presses his mouth against your bare skin, hot and wet and _perfect_ , and you break off your building tirade with a gasp, back arching. " _Fuck_ , Connor, you gotta warn me before- shit, do that again-" You reach down, grab his hair- feel yourself tightening, riding him, orgasm creeping through the corners of your brain- and he stops.

He pulls back, lips slick, and catches your gaze. "While I enjoy this, I think," he says, delicately, "that there's something I want to try. Indulge me," and it's not a question but a command, and you gulp, nodding, even though your cunt aches like a bruise. Connor gets to his feet, unties his tie. Pulls you back up to a sitting position and grabs your wrists. "I'm going to give you instructions. You're going to listen," he says, and you watch as he ties them together, hands sure and steady as he knots them tighter and tighter. You won't be able to untie them without his help. "And if you disobey, you're going to be punished. Do you understand?" He steps back, lets your wrists fall.

You stare at him, eyes wide, thoughts racing. You've done stuff like this before, but not often, and not- not with him in charge, not like this. You've danced around play, imitated it; but this is new. "I-"

"Please," he says, voice low, begging- and that...You can't deny him.

"Okay."

He closes his eyes, savoring the word, his victory, and then he's pulling you forward, down- until your face is even with the zipper of his jeans, close enough that you can feel the heat pouring off of him. You rest your bound hands against his stomach, shiver as he reaches around them to jerk his pants down, freeing his cock from his jeans. Connor never wears underwear, doesn't need to, and he has never appreciated that until now, your breath hot on his dick, and he rubs the head of it against your cheek, sighing, sensors throbbing.

"Open," he says, and you swallow, inhaling noisily through your nose. Lean forward. Open your mouth.

Connor swears quietly under his breath as you take him in, ozone taste of thirium mixing with the leftover tang of your cigarettes, strong- though not unpleasant. He presses into your mouth slowly, hands carding through your hair, holding you secure as he _thrusts_ , slowly, just on the right side of too much. Saliva pools in your mouth as he moans, and you drag your tongue up the length of him, swallow convulsively when he pushes too hard, too much. You've never enjoyed this, but the effect it has on him- you can't mind it. Not now. Not when he looks like this, wrecked, mouth working.

"Fuck," he says, fingers digging into your scalp, "fuck, baby, you're so good," You hiss out a breath, take him deeper- he convulses against you, jerks himself out of your mouth as his processors short out, feedback from his sensors overwhelming. Smears thirium come against your lips, texture greasy and slick against your skin.

You pull back, smug- but he follows, presses a kiss to our mouth, no doubt tasting himself on your skin, and you shiver as he pushes you back, back, down onto the bed.

His cock is still hard and throbbing between his legs- one of the perks of being an android, being in control of all his bodily functions- and he lifts your legs, settles himself between your thighs. Strokes himself against your skin, spit-slick against the seam of your sex. Maddening. You thrust down against him, seeking friction, but he stills, draws your tied wrists above your head.

"Let me," he says, "don't move."

You still, gnawing on your lip. He grinds against you, slow and sure and absolutely brutal, and you wonder, faintly, just what you've gotten yourself into. "I'm going to _ruin_ you," he says, low enough that you, at first, think you misheard- but no, he meets your eyes, gaze hot and liquid brown, and he looks _reverent_ , and that's-

Too much, almost.

Fingers trace down your stomach, slip between your folds; he strokes against your clit, dry skin catching _just so_ against the thin skin there; you jerk back with a moan, but he follows, unrelenting pressure against too-sensitive nerves. He grinds the heel of his palm against your core, strokes his fingers up and around, and you feel your arousal smearing against his skin and yours, thick and hot.

"Please," you hiss, and he stills. Blinks. Rearranges some priorities.

You cry out as he plunges two fingers inside you, just tight enough to burn; he rocks them into you, curls them, bends down to lick a stripe around them, _between_ them, hot and liquid and burning. You're babbling, you realize belatedly, but can't really bring yourself to care that much; he presses a third finger in, long and just tight enough to have you spasming, clenching around him.

He traces his tongue against your clit, scissors his fingers, and that's- that's perfect. You're close, so close, and he senses it, jerks his hand out and away with a ferocity that has you crying out at the loss of contact. "Not yet," he says, and crawls onto the bed next to you, levers you up and around to settle on his thighs. His dick rests against your pelvis, blue-tinged and urgent, and he catches you looking, grips your thighs.

"Ride me."

You swallow, shove down your apprehension. "Like this?" you ask, and he nods, expression unreadable.

"I want to see."

So you pull yourself up, brace your bound hands against his chest. Sink onto him, inch by inch, a burning stretch even after his fingers. His LED flickers yellow-red-yellow-blue as you fully seat yourself with a gasp, trembling, and he urges you to move before you're completely ready, hands tight on your skin, sending electric arousal through your veins.

You rock back, down, gasping; he rolls his hips, following your movements, good but not quite enough- not quite-

"Touch me," you beg, and he slides a hand down, between your bodies, and presses his fingers against your clit, and that's- perfect. You come before he does, jerking against him helplessly as your breath seizes in your lungs, eyes fluttering shut; he grips your hips, slams into you from below, over and over and over- you cry out when he buries himself inside, coming, but he doesn't stop, even when aftershocks start shaking his frame.

He rolls the both of you, presses you into the bed, chasing another orgasm; you flop back, swearing, muscles clenching and it's too much, overwhelming, painful enough that you're gasping with it, but he doesn't stop, and you don't stop him, even though you could.

Connor tears another orgasm from you, relentless, mouth pressing hot and wet against your neck, your collarbone, tongue tracing the veins under your skin before he kisses you, pressing you into the pillows. Breath stutters and heaves out of your mouth, soft groans and keens spilling out as he fucks you through it, cock unflaggingly hard as you go limp beneath him, shaking.

"I might-" your voice cracks, and you swallow, try again, exhaustion making you stupid; he's still thrusting, long and deep, slow- inevitable. "I might pass out,"

He catches your gaze, holds it. "Yes," he says, "you will." Hitches your legs over his shoulders, _slams_ into you, slick and loose after two orgasm's worth of come leaking out, pace brutal and perfect and you can't come again, you _can't_ , but you do and you _scream_ , unconsciousness rolling over you in a black wave.

  


Connor is gone when you jerk awake, though you can hear him moving around the apartment. You sit up, swearing under your breath as your back explodes with pain; your thighs are tight, too, and your cunt feels...Sore. Used. It's not the worst feeling in the world, but even the press of sheets against the sensitive skin has you reeling back, looking for relief from the stimulation.

The bedroom door creaks open, and Connor is at the bedside in an instant, glass of water and painkillers in hand. You take them wordlessly, groaning low in your throat as he produces a bottle of pain-relieving lotion and spreads the substance across your stomach, your thighs. He has the grace to look abashed, though not terribly so- and you're...glad.

"Thank you," he says, wiping his hands clean, "I...Enjoyed that. I hope it wasn't- I-" he breaks off, LED flickering yellow. "I understand if you're upset."

You shake your head, reach out to pull him down, press a kiss to his temple. He rests against you, skin humming with electricity and thirium and life, and you sigh. "I...Stuff like that," you say, "I like it. If that's what you want more of, we can- we can talk about it. Not often, because it'll kill me, but...We can."

He buries his face into your hair, exhales. Relaxes.

"Connor?" you murmur, and he makes an inquisitive noise against your skin. "Happy birthday."

You can't see it, but you feel him smile, lips curving against your temple. "Thank you," he says, and somehow- it's fine. It'll all be fine.


End file.
